My breaths are sullen, shaky and shallow. Maybe if I don’t move you won’t really be leaving me here. Maybe if I don’t move, nothing will change.
Things aren’t the same now. The exiliration has come to a screeching halt. The anxiety and anticipation of you, its gone, too. I am not allowed to have it anymore. It’s all been replaced with the heavy reality that there is a sickness here. We have to stop now.



I have been 30 for a month now. Before my birthday  I dyed my raven hair bubblegum pink. That lasted 2 months. Then I chopped my mid-back length hair off up to my chin and dyed it black again. I cut off all the stories tangled in my hair. 

I can see my body betraying me. I don’t fight hard enough against it, though. My skin doesn’t feel soft and supple. My chest is covered in marks. I see 4 different doctors. My ankles are weak from not being careful enough. My under eyes are sunken like my father’s now. I am tired. I am wheezy. I stare at the ceiling.


My therapist  asked to see some of my writing that I keep to myself. At home, hidden between books and knick knacks.  I chose a piece and tried not  look at his face when he read it

Not everything I write is sad, really.  I see his eyebrows raise and lower, he  adjusts his reading glasses. He laughs and I cringe.

It is very intetesting to hear his interpretation of a poem I wrote. He likened it to me searching for my mania. Which I do but it wasn’t what I thought of  when I wrote it. 

Anyway,  now that it is Fall, my focus is no longer on Spring time rhymes. 

Manic today

Here she is again
Awake at 3am
Making pancakes and
Doing all the dishes before work
Taking a shower isn’t a chore today
It isn’t scary

I’m all dressed up
With nowhere to go

Smiling and giving a
To every stranger
I am floating

Singing to the new songs
Standing in the rain
Running and screaming to the sky in the rain
She is so happy to be alive today

Everything is easy now
Nothing hurts now

If I’m manic

If I’m manic
Let me have it
Bursting at the seams
I’m metallic gold
Theres no need for sleep
 or rest
There is no time for rest

Euphoric in despair
I’m cutting off all my hair
Is there a savior for me?
Tell me this isn’t how it will always be

I’m dancing with my demons
We’re laughing
We’re crying
We’re screaming
And smiling

Where have you been? 

I haven’t really written anything in the past month. I used to love it. I could write about anything. Give me the color of the trees. The smell of the hot sun on the pavement.
I liked studying my muses. I took them with me to bed. I thought all day of how to make them better. I was comforted in my head when I felt alone. I felt alone, quite a bit. 

And it’s not for the lack of actual people around me, no. I am so fortune to have my loved ones.  Living with this mental illness sometimes kept me lonley. I feel like I am the  disease. I paint everything selfishly black if I am depressed. I’ll color everything bright pink, everything is neon when I am manic. I don’t want to be it anymore. 

I am overwhelmed with guilt over my madness. I feel like a bubble about to pop.

I can barely hear the birdsongs now
As I slouch toward the sun
Hoping that it will save me

Wilted like a tired flower
Some tried to love
They watered me with showers

“There, there little flower”
They speak sweetly to me
“You have everything you need”

How can I say
So selfishly
That there is not enough sun
Or water
To raise my head to the sky